40. Matteo

40

I've needed distance since the moment I walked in on her, but I never needed it more than I do right now. I find it increasingly impossible to say no to this woman, and then she tells me that I shouldn't go… that she needs me? That she wants me?

Fuck.

I need to be cruel to be kind. Whatever feelings she might have for me now, they will be obliterated when she learns of Il Consiglio's hand in her mom's and brother's deaths. I didn't mastermind it or give the go-ahead for the car wreck, but from her perspective, it will all be the same.

She is too fucking beautiful to be ruined by the likes of me. Men like me don't get to have women like her. The risk is too big. This is set in stone, and having a woman like her will ruin me for my own status quo forever. I'm that guy who fucks and leaves. I won't be able to do that with her.

I make my way back to the deck to find a crew member. The same guy who showed me the way earlier is still on duty. "Tell the captain we're ready to leave," I say as I walk up to him.

"Right now?" he asks, not questioning but confirming.

"Right now." I finish my whiskey and put the glass on the counter. Time to get away from the scene of the crime. "First show me where Burley is sleeping?"

"Sure. This way."

I follow him down another passage to where some smaller cabins are situated. With a nod for the crew member to go wake the captain up, I knock on the door. There's a grunt, so I open the door and walk in.

"Welcome on board, boss," Burley huffs as I walk in. "Glad you could join us."

"You managed to get some sleep?"

"Yeah, mostly."

"How're you doing?" I go to stand next to the bed where Burley is sprawled out on his stomach.

He rolls over to look at me. "At least they didn't get me in the bollocks, so I'm good."

I smirk. "Your arm?"

He rolls his shoulder. "This one's fine. Tasha did a good job."

"I bet she did."

A stretch of silence follows in which I swear Burley sniffs out her body's scent on me. He fucking knows that I've been messing with the merch.

"You spoke to Rosalia?"

"Yep," Burley says, taking my segue in his stride. "She's good."

It helps that Rosalia is from our world. That's one thing Tasha will never be. "You're good to stick around until we fly back together on the jet? Or do you want to go home earlier? You can fly over with the jet, and it can be back in time to pick us up."

He scoots up to be more upright and puts a pillow under his lower back and leg to ease the pressure off his butt. "I know you don't need me in Cannes, what with Stephano and his men there, but hell, I want to stick around and see how this unfolds."

"How what unfolds?"

"You know…" He rolls a hand in the air as if he isn't committed to a straight answer. "This thing with Armstrong's daughter."

I'd be an idiot to think these two haven't formed some bond. She's been in his company a lot, got him on this yacht by the looks of it and not the other way around. She even apologized for jumping off a cliff on his watch.

The only reason why he'd refer to Tasha as Armstrong's daughter is because he wants to remind me why we're on this mission.

The Don's second request.

I'm the guy who gets the job done, whatever it takes.

I need to focus. Tasha Armstrong is just another job that I'll wrap up and deliver, completed. No more getting my kitten off whenever she asks for it. Fuck, not caving in to her earlier when she asked me to make her come again had been one of the hardest walk-aways in my life.

And who decides what you're allowed to have and not have?

I don't want to dissect her question now, or the whiplash that came with the underlying accusation in her words. I'm not the one who decides what I'm allowed to have or not have. Like her, I'm just a pawn.

"If you're asking for a bullet in the other buttcheek," I say, inwardly shrugging off her words, "know that I don't aim that well."

Burley chuckles; a good laugh at my expense.

I harden my resolve and steel myself for the inevitable. "The plans are made and going ahead." Right on cue, the yacht's engines switch on with a low hum. "We'll be in Cannes by tomorrow night as scheduled."

I walk out, not wanting to hear another word from him. He can read me like a fucking book and that's the last thing I need right now.

Once in the corridor, I make my way back to the main deck. There's more crew around as the yacht is set to cruise. I can stick around here until daybreak, catch some sleep on a sofa somewhere, but I've left Tasha unguarded.

Without a doubt, she's probably awake and plotting her next escape. With the yacht's engines going, I wouldn't put it past her to jump butt naked into the ocean, with only those rings on her fingers, to get away from me.

I rip a whole string of curses as I make my way back to my wife's cabin. This is the last night I'll ever have with her. I open the door softly and push it open. In the moonlight that comes through the windows, I see her body etched under the covers.

She stirs, then looks up at me. "You're back?"

Her tone says it all. I'm something that the cat dragged in. Definitely awake and plotting then. I pad over to the other side of the bed and toe off my loafers. "I went to check up on Burley." I consider taking my T-shirt off and hesitate. The jeans can go, the jocks must stay.

Maybe not get naked with her at all.

"Oh." She lifts onto her elbow. "How's he doing?"

"He's fine."

"What are you doing now?"

"Coming to bed."

"Here?"

"Where else?"

"There's a whole yacht with a gazillion bedrooms—" She breaks off, then inhales sharply with realization. "I've sorted myself out, if you think you can stroll in here after?—"

"Good girl," I say with a smirk. "Next time I'm watching."

"There's no next time," she mutters as she rolls onto her side, giving me her back.

No, there's no next time. This is why I have to be here, to be with her like this. I stay fully clothed, get under the covers, and edge closer to her.

"Matteo—"

"Just this, kitten. Nothing more." My hand slips over her naked hip, nudging her close to me, her sweet ass snuggled to my groin, my chest flush against her back. I run my thumb over her hipbone as I slide my other arm under her pillow. "So you can sleep, remember."

"More likely so you can keep an eye on me." Her head comes to rest on my biceps, and I inhale her delicious scent with a chuckle, storing it away for some future session with the wank bank. She doesn't move, her body stiff and unwilling against mine.

"Relax, kitten, we both need to sleep."

I can feel the tension seep out of her as she stops fighting me, takes my hand, weaves our fingers together and presses them between her breasts. "You know what your problem is, Matteo?" she whispers into the night.

"No?" I press the softest kiss below her ear, and she purrs softly in response. "Tell me my problem, kitten. Tell me all my problems."

"Here you are, cuddling with me. Because you want to cuddle with me, not for any other bullshit reason you might come up with." She lets go of my hand and turns into my embrace. She cups my cheek. "You won't allow yourself to be a good guy, but you are one."

She presses the softest of kisses to my lips, then she snuggles her head under my chin, hooks her leg over my hip, and sighs the contented sigh of a woman who got in the last word as she settles against my chest. Totally cuddling.

"Say that again?"

"You heard me the first time," she murmurs as she pats my pec. "To me it feels as if I've been let into a secret. Now go to bed."

The secret of Matteo Scalera. I'm a good guy.

Fuck.

I'm not going to sleep a wink.